


Ephemeral

by LittleLark



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, M/M, Mild Gore, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-09 06:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11663748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLark/pseuds/LittleLark
Summary: Luke has been on his own for years after the Azrael Virus became a worldwide pandemic. Abandoned in the evacuation, the world as he knew it is gone as he fights to find his family. When he's found by Ashton, a man with his own fight and guilt to hide, Luke's life becomes a little more complicated than just the Reaps on his doorstep.





	1. If every living thing dies alone what am I doing here?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there,
> 
> This idea has been in my head for a while now, I'm going to try to breathe some life into it...

There was a very small window of opportunity to go looting, and Luke finds that it's the middle of dusk, when the shadows stretch along the dirt tracks and the whole world burns orange. Any earlier and he'd end up exhausted and sweaty in the summer heat; any later and he might not make it home at all. Tonight, the sky is clear and the heat haze has long faded. Luke checks over his shoulder another time, welcomed with only a stretch of empty street behind him, deathly quiet and still, but that doesn't mean much anymore. The coast is clear for now, so he walks a little further in the open, feet kicking up grey dust with each step; it settles in the tears in his converse - they used to be white, he thinks, but he can't tell. 

Another half a mile and he rounds a corner, sticky and sunburned with his shirt sticking uncomfortably, and rests up against the brick of some forgotten building. He drags a hiss through his teeth as he moves his weight off one leg, swallowing against the sharp throb of pain in his thigh. Like always, the ache makes him feel faintly sick, and he's thankful he hasn't eaten much. His leg's still pretty torn up, and hopefully it hasn't started bleeding through the bandage again, but other than keeping it clean he isn't sure what else to do. He'll have to grab more dressing and some antiseptic tonight to keep infection at bay, he's already limping bad enough as it is. 

He approaches the storefront of an abandoned supermarket cautiously, peering into shadows for any sign of movement. Even though it's still light out, the dark corners get his adrenalin pumping. He tightens his grip on the handle of his baseball bat with white knuckles and kicks open the glass door. For a moment everything is still as the door whispers over the linoleum, Luke's silhouette illuminated red by the flashing neon sign above. 

The store inside is dark; the floor is blanketed in dirt and the first row of shelves he can see are almost empty, save for a few loaves of mouldy bread and an open bag of croissants. Somewhere beyond his feet, a scratching sound rushes across the ground and Luke raises the bat above his head before he can think about it. Heart racing, he clenches his jaw as a tiny rat scurries past him, red eyes glowing in the dying light. As relief floods his system, Luke huffs in annoyance and he takes a deep stride past the entryway. 

He moves quickly, ears trained to pick up any noise, winding his way through the bare aisles and climbing over tipped shelves. At this point, food with a good shelf-life is hard to come by - looters have already ransacked the local stores until they're all but barren - but Luke knows that there are canned goods near the back here, and that last night there was still a fair bit left in the stockroom. 

Glass crunches underneath his shoe as he rounds a corner at an uneven jog, determined to grab what he needs and be out in just a few minutes. He grabs two litre-bottles of water as he passes, stopping in front of the cans and grabbing as much as can fill half his backpack without looking at the labels. He shoves the water in the sides and doubles back to head into the stockroom at the back. The air is stagnant and hot in here, pulls sweat to Luke's forehead and within seconds he can feel it pooling in his collar. He rushes to a row of first aid supplies and grabs a handful of gauze and antiseptic spray, before throwing a box of painkillers in his backpack for good measure and zipping it up. 

Glass crunches outside the door, sharp as a gunshot in the quiet. 

Shit, Luke thinks. The nearest exit is three aisles down, but if someone's stood right outside the stockroom, he'll have no hope of reaching it undetected. So he throws his backpack over his shoulder and moves silently back towards the steel door, feet moving light and silent over the tiles. He's not sure if he's even breathing and his whole body has chills as he slowly raises his bat, freezing to listen for retreating footsteps. All he can tell is that they're coming closer, a harsh, heavy thud that echoes in the silence. 

Luke doesn't hesitate; he's not going down without a fight so fuck it. He kicks the door open while he takes a swing with both arms, six-inch nails embedded in the head of the baseball bat aimed straight for the head of his attacker. 

A shout rings out as he swings, and all he sees is tanned skin and hanging curls, he can't see the eyes, can't tell if -

Before he can make contact, an arm comes up to block him, which is strange for a Reap, knocking his aim off, and before he can move, he's shoved backwards so hard his back collides with the floor. His leg screams in protest as he scrambles up, a tall and muscular figure following him back into the dark of the stockroom. His weapon lays abandoned on the floor and he can't reach it without turning his back to the guy, so he throws the heel of one hand into the man's throat, pushing up to force his jaw upwards, but receives a sharp blow to his shoulder that spreads fire down his arm and neck. 

The man sends a blind kick to Luke's leg and he yelps, falling back into the shelves as pain radiates from the wound there. It swims through his skin like Mercury until it's all he can think of, and he finds himself slumped over and gasping through cramped lungs, whimpering like a child as the man looms over him. 

He's snatched up by the back of his neck and pulled around to face the man. He searches Luke's face with hard, dark eyes, honey coloured curls hanging down over his face. Luke's vision swims slightly as he takes in tanned, toned arms left bare by a grey shirt, and there's something cold pressed into his ribs, but his head is tipped up as his neck is catalogued by the man's fingers. He pulls the collar of Luke's shirt down to see his shoulders before grabbing his jaw and looking straight into his eyes. 

He sighs and grips Luke's chin tighter, pressing the barrel of a shotgun into Luke's side insistently. "You don't look like a Reap. You clear?" The man asks, his voice a little smoother than Luke expects. 

He blinks, "what?"

The man frowns, checking down Luke's neck again before lifting the hem of his t-shirt to poke at his stomach. "I can't see any bites. You're not infected are you?"

"No," Luke says indignantly. He gives the guy a quick shove backwards, "get the hell off me."

The guy moves out of Luke's space a bit, pulling his hair back from his face. "Who are you?" he demands, "what're you doing here?"

"What the hell does it matter?" huffs Luke as he pulls himself to stand upright, "you think waving a gun around in my face is gonna make me do whatever you want?"

Even with Luke having a good few inches of height on him, the other guy seems unfazed. He cocks his head to the side as he observes Luke with darkening hazel eyes. "You tell me, sunshine." He grins, "I'm the one waving a gun in your face."

And Luke has officially had enough. Without a word he spins on his heel to pick up his backpack and bat. He wants nothing more to do with this guy; his leg fucking hurts, damn it, and he's starving. It's already dark too so he's going to have to take extra care getting back home because of this arsehole. 

"If you aren't bit, why's your leg bleeding so much."

Luke doesn't even break stride when he glances back, catching the way the man stays fixated on his bloodied jeans. "Because you rammed your fat foot into it, bright spark."

"You're pale and your eyes are bloodshot. You sure you're clear?" 

Luke rolls his eyes, "yes I'm sure. Caught my leg on a wire fence 'few days ago, relax will ya?" 

Suddenly he's up in Luke's face, shotgun forgotten at his side. With quick, practised ease he checks into Luke's eyes, slapping a hand over his forehead and fingers pressing quickly over the pulse in Luke's neck. Stunned, Luke lets him. The man's cool skin feels nice on his, until he asks to see Luke's leg. 

"What, no!" he grumbles, "get off me, dude."

Luke's ignored. 

"You have a fever. Could be infected; you probably need stitches, too, if it's bleeding like that still. Let me have a look, man; I'll clean it up for you."

Luke steps away, wanting some personal space back. "I'll be fine, thanks."

"You should get someone take a look at it-"

"Well it's just me out here, so I'll manage." Luke snaps, bristling, he's not a child and he's been on his own for however long now - he's not died yet. "Leave me the fuck alone, yeah?"

He expects the guy to swear at him and leave, but he just stands there, looking at Luke with something akin to pity. There's a definite softening of his eyes, and it just pisses Luke off. He just nods, managing to look like one of those stupid nodding dogs people used to put in their cars, and strides off to the first aid supplies. Luke watches him through the shadows as he throws bottles of antiseptic and rolls of bandages into a drawstring bag. 

"I've got a first aid kit in here too." The guy says. "Come on." And with that, he disappears through the stockroom door. 

With a heaving sigh, Luke turns and follows, jogging a few steps to catch up. He's too tired to deal with this, but being caught by a Reap in an abandoned supermarket isn't how he wants to go. "Where we going?" 

"You're gonna take me to your base, and I'm gonna stitch up that leg of yours."

"Nope," Luke says, "not happening. You're not coming back to mine."

The guy grins back at him. "Do you want my help or not?"

"I - I didn't even ask for it!" Luke splutters. "What's your deal, anyway? Why do you even want to help me?"

He's offered a shrug. "Looks like you might use it. And it's been a while since I found anyone else - some company would be nice. If it bothers you that much I'll just fix you up and leave. How's that sound?"

"Perfect,"

"Great!" The guy throws him a bright smile, totally unaffected by Luke's sarcasm. He seems much happier now, grabbing Luke's bat from his hand and swinging it experimentally. "Cool DIY, man. You make this yourself? 

A bubble of laughter escapes Luke, "yeah, thanks. So what's your name? Or am I supposed to call you Curly or something?"

That cracks the guy up. He tips his head and let's out a loud laugh up to the sky. The smile is so deep it stretches his face and crinkles his eyes, and suddenly he's so, so bright. "God, no. Name's Ashton - Ash."

Luke blushes, bumping his shoulder into Ash playfully. "Shut up - I dunno. You weren't exactly asking for introduction when you tried to ram a bullet through my ribs."

"I did ask who you were though."

"Ok, well your interrogation wasn't very welcoming; your technique needs a little work... I'm Luke, by the way." 

Ash grips his hand in a firm handshake, squeezing gently before letting go. "Nice to meet you, Luke," he offers. "So, we better get going. Lead the way, sunshine. We're living in a fucking horror movie, I don't want to die out here." 

***


	2. It's cold and I don't want to be here

Long before they've reached home, Luke's leg gives out, leaving him leaning heavily on Ash as he loops his arm around Luke's ribs. Luke directs him the best he can through the dark, breathless and tired; his backpack weighs a tonne tonight. Ash pauses when the unit comes into view; a dilapidated white quarantine bunker built in the Second Outbreak. Luke watches as he cranes his neck to see better, looking in shock as he realises that this is the base Luke is leading him too. He deposits Luke against the low brick wall and jumps it, lifting Luke over too and all but carrying him the rest of the way. 

Luke unlatches the bolted front door and hobbles inside. He slaps the wall a few times in search of the light switch, and the generator whirrs to life in the background as the light flickers on, bathing them in a fluorescent yellow glow. He's suddenly embarrassed that he's so messy. The few belongings he still owns are strewn about the room and the tiny gas stove in the corner needs cleaning; in the corner, blankets are thrown over the bare mattress on the floor and there are dirty clothes soaking in the steel sink. 

Ash clears his throat gently. "Nice place you got here,"

"It's a shithole, but thanks." Luke snorts out through a humourless laugh. 

"Are you kidding?" Ash counters, raising his eyebrows to his hairline, "I'm living in someone's garden shed. "Do you know how many rats I've seen?"

"They used this place to test on the Reaps in the Outbreak. It's creepy." Luke rolls his eyes and dumps the contents of his backpack next to the stove as Ash claps his hands together. 

"Right, let's get a look at that leg of yours." It takes a bit of sifting through the various items of clothing, a flashlight, two protein bars and what appears to be a crumpled photograph that Ash keeps in his bag, but eventually he pulls out a stained first aid kit, finding a surgical needle and thread. He douses his hands in antiseptic fluid before holding his lighter up to the needle. 

When he looks to Luke, it's just to say, "pants," before he returns his focus to his hands. Luke stands awkwardly for a moment, content to watch Ash as he works, before shakily shedding his jeans. The fabric stings as it passes over his thigh.

Ash lays out a blanket for Luke to lie on and orders him on his back. The wound he's faced with isn't pretty; bloody and inflamed, it makes the skin appear puckered and swollen. When Ash prods the area surrounding it, Luke grunts in pain, pulling his leg back. 

"Shhh, I'll be done in no time." Ash murmurs, laying a hand on his knee. "Just need to clean it first."

The antiseptic sears him from the inside out, tendrils of burning ember wrapping through his flesh and Luke can't help but cry out. He's left with watering eyes and a breathless, shallow rise of his chest when Ash holds his leg down so hard he can't move it and wipes out the blood with a cotton swab, discarding one after the other as he reapplies the antiseptic. 

His jaw is tense when he's finished and he glances at Luke sympathetically. "I'm going to put the stitches in now. It's too deep to heal on its own, but it won't take many, okay?"

Luke blinks as Ash threads the needle. His skin feels hot and cold all at once and it's almost as if he's not really in the room. He wonders vaguely if he's lost a lot of blood or something because he was fine a moment ago but now he feels lightheaded and he's sweating. Something is wrong and he wants Ash to stop moving stop coming closer stop - 

The needle is poised right next to Luke's thigh and he thinks he's asked something, but Luke promptly shoots up and scoots back. 

Ash pulls back, "woah, you ok?" he asks with uncertainty, wide eyes focused on Luke. 

"Yeah," Luke breathes, "just feel sick - gimme a minute." He's not sure if he's not about to throw up all over himself, his stomach turning unpleasantly, and Ash is still holding the needle. He hangs his head between his knees, trying his best to calm down. There's a warm hand on his back, rubbing up and down through his shirt. He can only see the blanket beneath him now and feels a little better. 

"It's ok, you're ok," murmurs Ash, continuing to stoke Luke's back. He brushes Luke's sweaty hair off his neck and it feels nice, for a moment. 

"Sorry," Luke says thickly. 

"No worries, man. Don't like needles, huh?"

Luke shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut until he sees little stars and let's Ash whisper nonsense to him some more. 

Ash groans as he re-situates himself on the floor. "Ok, so you wanna try again? Come on-" and he's gone, crossing the room to grab a towel from the sink rack and rinse it under the tap. "Put this on your forehead and lay back down." Luke does as he's told, pressing the back of his arm over his eyes. 

"Ok, deep breaths. Just breathe for a minute, that's it, there you go. You're ok, it'll be over in a minute, I promise." Ash hums, and Luke can feel his hand rubbing softly over his hip. 

Luke breathes deeply, focusing on the cold of the floor seeping through his back and the water dripping over his temples. The sutures hurt like a bitch and leave his cheeks wet - they have nothing to stop the pain with - but like Ash promised, it's over soon and his leg has a layer of fresh bandage. Ash just pats his hip and by the time he opens his eyes, all traces of blood and needle are gone. Luke moves quickly to redress himself, embarrassment flaming his cheeks, and says nothing as he lights the various gas lamps he owns, stealthily grabbing a large solar-powered lamp from outside and placing it near the stove. He needs to conserve the generator as long as he can and he's already used enough energy as it is. 

Locking the deadbolts the steel door and the grates on the window, he pulls the blackout blind across next, thankful that despite its creepiness, the unit houses secure doors and windows. It was built to keep the infected away from the living, and so far that's what it's done, aside from the odd Reaps skulking round the front in the early hours of the morning like cockroaches. 

He opens a few cans and makes himself dinner, offering a portion of beans and rice to Ash. They eat mostly in silence; Ash is tense the whole time, and keeps his gun on the floor by his foot. He's twitchy in a way that Luke hasn't been since he found this place, he can see Ash strain to hear beyond the walls. 

"We're safe in here, I promise." He says. "They can't get in unless I unbolt the door. Reaps are strong but they're stupid. None have evolved to make use of opposable thumbs yet."

"They don't have to be smart, if they're hungry." Ash counters darkly. "Won't give up if they think there's food here."

Luke chuckles, "I could plate them up some rice, maybe they're vegetarian."  
It doesn't get the smile he'd hoped for, and he opts for silence while they finish up and get ready for bed. 

"Hey, is that a shirt I can borrow?"

Luke turns towards what Ash points at: the tshirt folded at the bottom of the mattress. "You can't wear that one, it's not mine." He explains, shrugging a shoulder. 

Ash pauses and gives him an odd look; he purses his lips slightly, looking around the room as if someone will jump out from the walls. "I didn't realise you had company," he says with a shrewd lift of his brow. 

Luke's not sure it's meant to, but the ridicule he detects in Ash's voice stings and he grows defensive. "It's for my brother." He bites. 

"I thought you were alone out here." 

"I am." Luke rolls his eyes, his back to Ash. "I found it - I'm gonna give it to him when I see him." Honestly, he's getting irritated now; he doesn't appreciate Ashton presuming to know squat about his life. What business is it of his anyway? He prepares himself for an onslaught of teasing, riled up and ready for a fight with the first person he's seen in months, but it never comes. Ashton is looking off out the window at the side, instead. A frown creases his brow and Luke can see him chewing on the inside of his lip. He's sad and withdrawn suddenly and it makes Luke feel awful. 

"I have another you can borrow," he offers, feeling like a child begging forgiveness. He crosses to the clothes line strung across the back wall, pulling a blue tshirt into his hands. It's old and faded, worn until it's soft and falling apart. It's his favourite. "You can wear this one,"

Ash smiles gently, his eyes still years away, but he takes it from Luke anyway. He reveals a silver pendant hanging from a long chain when he removes his shirt to replace it with Luke's; it's a crucifix, Luke notes, settled in the middle of Ash's chest.   
He tries to insist on sleeping on the floor so Ash can have the bed, but Ash isn't having it. He keeps patting the bed and beckoning Luke over like a dog, with the biggest, dopiest grin on his face until Luke gives in, giggling all the way to the mattress and flopping down. 

"See," Ash whispers, "big enough for two."

They lie there in silence for a while, shoulders pressed together and each with their hands folded on their chests. It's awkward and unfamiliar, having someone next to him, but Luke feels giddy. He's been so starved of contact he's itching with anticipation, wandering for so long without a sign of life like a man in the desert. 

He gets up to put out the lights and stubs his toe on the way back. The crackle of Ash's laughter is infectious and he laughs along despite the ache, but Ash curls up in the opposite direction to go to sleep, and Luke instantly misses the touch of something warm and breathing. He's reminded of fearing the shadows in his bedroom as a child, when he'd crawl into bed with one of his brothers and promise to be quiet if they'd let him stay. 

After a while, Ash's breathing deepens, his body warm and still. Luke rolls onto his back, desperate and empty, feigning sleep, and feels his hand fall to rest against the edge of Ash's shoulder blade. He doesn't want to be pushed away, so he keeps his breathing slow and deep and hopes it looks like he's moved unconsciously, but Ash sleeps on through. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think.


End file.
